Standing at the Door...
by SoBeLizard
Summary: Conan O'Brien fic. Yes, yes I know. Conan. Crossed over with my characters life. There ya have it.
1. Prologue

----Prologue----  
  
"You know damn good and well you'll never get married Andy."  
  
"Well Conan, my dad always said, 'Andy, you don't marry the whores, you just buy them.'"  
  
"Sad thing is, they'd never get their money's worth. Thank God time's up, tomorrow we have Andy Dick, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Beck, buh buh bye now y'all..."  
  
As the Max Weinburg 7 ended out, Conan O'Brien stood up from his desk and stretched. He would be so glad when he could go home and take a nap. His lanky 6'4" frame was sore and tired, and he retired to his dressing room to get him makeup removed. He stared coldly in the mirror, criticizing his facial features. Hundreds of little freckles and bright red hair was a dead giveaway of his Irish heritage. He always wished there was some way to get rid of his beauty marks, but somehow, he managed to survive. He glanced quickly at his bright blue eyes, but, as usual, couldn't look into their reflection.   
  
"Allright Conan, you're good to go. How about you take a nice hot shower when you get home, kiddo?" Said his stylist, Marie. She was a plain woman, but conan's all-time favourite.  
  
"Sounds great sweetie, I'll see ya tomorrow." He plastered the ever-present faux smile on his face and kissed her cheek while he stood up. She grinned, and he walked out of the dressing room. Walking through well-known corridors and long NBC hallways, he finally found the vast parking lot where he normally parked his car. He didn't like long walks, so he got away with using the Handicapped spot. No one ever used it, so why not? He finally spotted the deep red Suburban, and began to walk twards it. Almost there, he tripped over a stepping stone that was kicked out onto the pavement.  
  
"Damnit, my foot!" He cursed, muttering under his breath about rocks, and stones and what not. Fumbling for his keys, he realized there was a yellow slip of paper hooked under his windshield wiper. He frowned, and grabbed the paper out of it's make-shift paperweight. He groaned when he saw what it was.  
  
"A parking ticket? For what?! Parking in a Handicapped spot? Oh who gives a damn if I do or don't! Stupid cops, always finding something wrong..." Mumbling as he got in his car, turned it on, and sped off. Not paying attention to his driving, he turned up the radio as loud as it would go, blasting whatever station it was on through the speakers. His mind wasn't on the music, it was on other things. Woman, booze, anything to drown out his ever-present anger. Suddenly, he swerved off the road, and heard a loud thud. Only then, did he realize it was storming. Pulling his car into a position where it was managable, he turned on the emergency lights, and went to see what he ran over. Feeling around the back of his car for his umbrella, and realizing he left it at home, he got out and went looking for some kind of log, or tree branch. It was so dark, he couldn't see much of anything. Untill he tripped over a big, bulky...something. He fell flat on his face, in the mud. When he leaned up, and crawled over to what he tripped over, and ran over, he just about had a heart attack.   
  
It was a person. 


	2. Chapter 1

----Chapter 1----  
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"Holy shit! Um, ok, oh God this is just fricking peachy. Um, are you ok? Hello?" Conan rambled on as he tried to shake the body that was lying on the pavement. Finally turning it over, he was shocked to see what gender his manequin was. Female. Panicking, he reached in his jacket pocket and retrieved his cell phone. Making sure it was on, he started to dial 911. However, when he put the reciever up to his ear, he noticed his batteries were dead. In a fit of frusteration, he tossed the cell into the grass somewhere on the other side of the road. Not knowing what else to do, he considered picking up the body and driving it to the hospital.   
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"Well, duh, Conan, sure aren't the sharpest tool in the shed are we?" He thought to himself, as he attempted to pick up the girl. To Conan's relief, she choose then to stir around. He sat indian-style next to her, already completely drenched, not caring that it just made his backside get wetter. He watched as her hand slowly made its' way to her forehead, gingerly touching the rather large, black and blue bump that decided to camp out right there. She slowly tried to prop herself up, but a wave of dizzyness swept over her. Conan reached out and helped her lay back down.  
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"Easy now, you've had a lot of crap happen to you. Can you talk?" He tried to copy what the doctors said on TV, but he wasn't very good at it. He didn't know if she had a concussion, internal bleeding, or any of that other stuff that happens to people when they get ran over. He gave her a quick glance over. She was clad in a black pair of those running pants that make that annyoing swishing noise when the legs rub together. Her black Nike shirt was underneath a jacket matching the pants. He studied her face for a moment. She had dark auburn hair, almost a burgandy tinted black. When a rare ray of light touched it, a bright red shone out against the black.   
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"Nice highlighting job." Thought Conan as he looked at her face. She had a thin upper lip, her lower one a bit puffy. Her forehead and cheeks were mostly freckles. However, they were more apparent than his own,she was ver fair-skinned and pale. He decided she was about 19. She opened her eyes for a moment, and he gave a start at their neon shade of green. She motioned for him to help her up to a sitting position, so he placed his hand on her back, lightly pushing forward. Once she was comfortable, he wanted to ask what the hell she was doing out on the road so late at night, and in only dressed in black too. But he decided against it, and asked the normal questions.  
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"Can you talk? What's your name?" He started off. She blinked a few times, then squinted at him.  
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"Um, yeah, what happened?" She said, a smooth but older than expected voice coming out of her lips. He faught not to make the 'Hi what happened, my name's Conan.' joke. He easily won that battle.  
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"Well, you got hit by a car. What's your name? Would you like some help?" Conan thought about what he just said. "'Do you need some help?' well no shit, sherlock. We're doing just great, huh Conan?" He thought once again, voting against voicing any of his inner arguments.  
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"I know I got hit by a car. Oh man my head hurts. Um, my name is Jezz. Jezz McMallan. How...how did you find me here?" She had a confused look on her face, and she had no clue Conan was the one who hit her. And he knew that, too. He really didn't think now was a nice time to tell her, though. Her voice once again interrupted his inner voice. "Is there any place I could get out of the rain?"   
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'Well good God Conan, take the girl to your car. Jesus, President Bush would have thought about that before you did. How stupid are you?' He figured he would have to go to a doctor about this over-constructive criticizm. His mind finally wandered back to the present. He let the girl take hold of both his hands and he helped, very slowly, pull her up to a standing position. She wasn't prepared for another bout of dizzyness, worse than the one before. She almost fell, but Conan instinctivly grabbed her and pulled her twards him to keep her from falling. She grabbed his jacket, and held her head down untill she was allright to walk. Holding her strady, he realized just how tall she really was. About 5'10". To Conan, that was tall considering the height of the people he was normally around. When she got her barings, he took her to his car, slowly and surely. Instead of opening the passanger side, he decided it better for her to lay down in the backseat. Helping her down, he made her just sit for a little bit so the change in height wouldn't cause another dizzy spell. She seemed very comfortable, and told him she would prefer to sit more than anything. He made sure none of her appendeges were in the way, and shut the door. Running around to the drivers side, he hurridly got in, anxious to finally get out of the freezing cold rain. He then finally realized he looked like a drowned rat. Sighing, he just enjoyed being in-doors for a moment. He then turned around, remembering something he saw on a commercial to see if her memory was allright.  
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"Ma'am, what year is it?" He asked politely, only to recieve a dirty look from his counterpart.  
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"2001, no shit. Listen, my head is fine, could you just drive me to the hospital?" The tone of her voice was growing incresingly ruder, and Conan's expierence with women told him she was probably just PMS'ing. So, he decided to leave her alone and drive. Glancing in the rear-view mirror to make sure the road was clear, he backed up onto the street, turning around, and driving back in the direction from where he came. After about 5 minutes, the girl once again broke the silence.  
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"You're Conan O'Brien." It came out more of a statement than a question. Plastering on a fake smile, he figured it was some late-night hawk. Or maybe an excited fan. He figured he'd address her like he did the rest of the people he dealt with every day.  
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"Why, yes I am. You're a fan of the show?" He asked a friendly question, preparing to hear the normal, 'Oh Conan, I love your show, you're just the funniest thing, can I have an autograph?!'. He was ruedly awakened.  
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"I've seen it once. You're not funny. In all honesty, you suck." This wasn't an expected, or appreciated answer. Realizing he'd have to stop being such a good samatarian, he only addressed the situation at hand.  
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"The point IS, are you feeling o.k.?" As soon as the interrogation left his mouth, he regretted it.  
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"I just got hit by a car. I have a migraine. My back is killing me. Yes, I'm hunky dorey. Thanks for askin, pal!" Her sarcasm could slice through steel, but he DID realize it was a stupid question. One he choose not to answer by words, but by turning up the radio. A smooth jazz sound flowed through the sterio, and he quickly though of a comeback he could make when she criticized his taste in music. And as he expected, she spoke.  
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"Euge Groove...wow, he has nice taste. In music, anyway. Suprise. I prefer rock, but this csn be good stuff." Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned it up a little bit. Glancing quickly in the rear-view mirror to see what she was doing, he saw her mouthing the words to the song. Figuring it was going pretty well, and the ice was slowly breaking, he decided to make a bold move. He opened his mouth, but not to speak...  
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"Your love, is like a candle, it flickers in the dark,  
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you came into my life, and brightened up my heart..."  
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After singing a while, he heard a tiny voice join in. He looked in the rear-view mirror, and grinned at this girl...Jezz,encouraging her to sing.  
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"Give me the love I need give in to me,  
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Hold me, caress me give in to me,  
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Give me the love I need, give in to me..."  
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Listening more closely to her voice than before, he thought he heard a tone of Scottish brogue in it. Slightly turning down the music, he asked her about it.  
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"You sound Scottish."  
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"I'm Irish."  
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"Really? So am I."  
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"So what?" Ouch. He decided to keep the music up and stop talking. As the smooth melody was supposed to sooth the situation, make it less tense, it only made it worse. Here he was, Conan O'Brien, king of late-night guffaws and giggles, and Culligan water-cooler employee talk, sitting in his car at 10:00 at night, in the freezing cold rain, singing a romantic song with God-knows-who, which he so kindly ran over. Can we say, taking it a little fast? 'Taking WHAT a little fast Conan?' 'Nothing.' 'My point exactly.'   
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"You're having conversations with yourself in your head, aren't you?"   
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"How the hell did you know?"   
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"I'm good."  
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As they entered the city hustle and bustle, Conan decided he'd better ask her what she wanted to do.  
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"O.K., you have two choices. New York City Regional, or St. Mary's. I suggest St. Mary's, they'd be less busy. Plus, they did a nice job taking out my appendix. And my tonsils!"   
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"That explains your singing. I'll take New York Regional." Conan rolled his eyes, and in a few minutes time, pulled up to the emergency enterance. When he was about to get out and help her inside, she quickly opened the door.  
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"Um, no thanks, I'm fine. I've used you enough allready. Here's my address-" she pulled out a card from her wallet, which he realized she had been carrying the whole time. "You can bill me for gas, and whatever else you big wigs sue people for."   
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"Hey, don't worry about it. Anyway-" He stopped and noticed she wasn't getting out. Judging by the look of pain on her face, she couldn't.   
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"What's wrong?" He asked, even getting worried himself.  
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"I can't move my legs. Oh my God, I can't move my legs." An extreme panick attack overcame her, and Conan quickly got out, and ran to the back door of his car. Picking her up, he ran inside the hospital, only to stop in his tracks at the line waiting for registration. Deciding against it, he walked over to the suprisingly empty waiting room, and got a chair fathest away from anyone who would notice him, and interrupt his buisness. Only then did he notice her panic attack had subsided, and she was avoiding his eyes.  
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"Um, I just wanted to thank you for having the courtesy to help a girl when she gets hit by some jerk-off who would never pay attention to save his life. Or someone elses. Anyways, thanks." He stared down at her, and realized that for once, she was serious. He could see it in her eyes.  
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"I'm gonna go and see about getting you some help, o.k.? Will you be o.k.?" He almost expected her to be sweet and suttle, but what could you expect from Jezz?   
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"No, I'm gonna die. Go on, go on." He smiled, and walked off to the registers desk. As soon as she saw he wasn't paying attention to her anymore, she pulled up her shirt and jacket a little to reveal a rather large gash in her side. Luckily it had stopped bleeding, but only when pressure was applied. Wincing with the pain, she closed her eyes, and prayed someone would help her soon. But what she didn't realize, was that help had already found her. And Conan had already found his saving grace. After all, he figured there was some charm to this Jezz girl, and many secrets as he watched her tend to her mysterous wound out of the corner of his eyes. He had his own problems, his own pain. And so did she. Standing at the door, he could see it in her overly-bright green eyes. 


End file.
